


Embers of Red

by GypsyMoon



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Natasha Feels, Natasha's Past explored, Romance, Steve comforts Natasha, Steve kisses Natasha's scars, Steve protects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2621462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsyMoon/pseuds/GypsyMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an attack leaves her wounded Natasha reenters the nightmares of her dark past. With Steve as her shield, she must face the demons and resist the urge to slip back into web of the torturous weavers that made her become the Black Widow. The only way to come out alive and is for to put her trust into a man who made her frozen heart bleed, no matter how deep the bullet lies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

**{1}**

* * *

 

Colors faded into translucence of dimming aspects of light, the street was covered in a slick glaze of rain, holding the muted orange of street lamps in rippling puddles. Everything around her had grown deathly still, but the darkness beckoned to her, taunting phantoms of her past cloaked over her.

They swallowed her emotions, into a black ash of charred memories and she never could outrun her mistakes or vivid nightmares they always followed her like shadows in the doorways. Her scars were remainders of sin etched in her mortality; blood had become condemning color of her world.

Tonight, Natasha Romanoff was a lone wander, sloshing her spiked heel boots against the clusters of puddles, a slap of wind against her ivory cheek, forced an irritable hiss to escape from her pink lips once she stood at the crosswalk. The glow of red light reflected in the depth of her grayish-teal eyes as she fought against the pain twisting in her shoulder.

She had been shot, a sniper bullet managed to tear through the leather of her jacket, and penetrate her flesh in a fraction of a second the slug was discharged from the barrel. She had enough reaction time to dodge, but she also used her body to protect a little girl from the moment she listened to the crack of the sniper rifle echo in her ears and watched the glass shatter into pieces across her table.

She had vaulted over a table, grabbed the shivering child, and used her lithe body as a barrier when the bullet ripped through her muscle, and made pain jolt through her body. Instead of waiting for the paramedic to asses her wound, Natasha, dazed and laden in her right arm moved out of the restaurant, applying pressure on her shoulder vanished into the sheets of rain. Deep in the pit of her stomach, the lethal spy knew that she had to clear away from civilizations, and use the shadows as she asset for escaping from the watchful eyes of her demons.

The knots of pain brought her musing back to the drops of maroon departing from the hole in her shoulder, and she stared intently at the blood gathering over the leather. The light of traffic sliced through the sheets of rain and painted the area with dim squares of prismatic colors against vacant windows of buildings. She can see the distant reflections of red flashes from the obstruction of the emergency vehicles parked in front of the restaurant though the wavers and splatters of rain prickling against her cold skin as they warp the red she conserved her glaring eyes at.

Her throat became coated with a varnished of coppery tang, and heart beat pumped faster against her chest, as the cold relief of water saturated over her breasts.

A muscle spasm jostled her bones and stole her breath, but she leaned her frame against the cement pole, stroking her shaky fingers over the wound and snarled out an ireful breath when a massive contraction of pain created numbness in her shoulder. She forced herself to walk down the street, the warring sense of dread crawled through her veins, all she felt was the searing of the bullet being swallowed into the marred and compromised tissue.

Calculating her next step, Natasha gritted her teeth and advanced closer to area where an overhang blocked the down pour. She was drenched to the bone, her scarlet locks soak and frizzed around her shoulders, and her face dabbed with tiny droplets that sloped over the crease of her full pale rose shaded lips. She pressed her back against the wall, sliding down until her back felt the damp cement soaking through the leather of her jacket. She was drifting with the images of her whilst mind; thoughts wandered elsewhere. She felt the numbness ripple through her bones, tasted the blood trickling down her throat and winced against the dull throb pulsing in her shoulder.

She was lost somewhere in the deep and merciless realms of her scarred mind. It flowed back so many years, but the contortion of pain had grown vivid. She had felt the thralls of pain ever since she entered the metal doors of the asylum where demons ruled and blood had spilled. The Red Room.

* * *

_Her bloodshot and throbbing grayish green chasms fluttered open and the haze of crimson light consumed her, suffocating and condemning as a painful sting of venom shot through her veins._

_It felt like a pick of a needle, numbness entered her right arm within seconds._

_Natasha caught a glimpse of her new form of torture, a small eight legged spider, crawling on the floor with a mark of red on its back. A Black Widow. She tried to scream, but red silk was smothering her lips and her breath was fading. She felt her heart pumped faster, fighting against the lethal poison drowning in her system. She managed to kill the spider, with her shaky hand, making it the blood smear over her fingers._

_Death. That was the first thought that entered her foggy mind and it stroked over her heart. She looked frantically around the room. She managed to cradle her infected arm against her trim waist. Her throat was swelling shut, skin turned to ice and vision blurred. Fear welled deep into depth of her soul. It burned every thread of her mortality. She could feel her heart beat slowing and body functions shutting down. She could taste the venom, the sourness of blood encasing over her dry lips, the paralyzing sensation of being choked by an invisible noose. She was completely immobilized. Her life dimming away._

_She heard noises of torture echo through the four cement walls. A heart-rending scream of pain, two voices speaking in harsh, taunting in inhumane Russian accents. Within a few moments, everything fell into dead silence; she only listened to the straggled breathing patterns escape from her lungs._

_There was a sound of metal dragging on cement, hinges humming and squeaking as Natasha dared herself to open her eyes, but the spider's venom took hold of every fiber in her battered body. Encroaching, heavy footsteps vibrated and jostled her bones, she flinched as another sharp prick under her skin, pumping smoldering liquid into a hard vein above her elbow._

_"Расслабьтесь и делать вид, его просто дурной сон_ ,"  _the voice was unfamiliar and cryptic to her ears. A false lie to make terror and hatred flood through her, jabbing in her soul. It was cruel. She had been expecting more pain and the cold glare of inorganic eyes burrowing into her skull. Instead, the man's expression was vacant, and his dark eyes deaden from being a witness to the mindless horrors concealed with the walls. He almost looked human, but she knew he was a pretender, a butcher of souls and a monster under flesh._

_He eyed her like a prize, and took a step back towards the door."Стенд," he barked out his order, his tone ragged. She responded with no hesitating, standing unbalanced on her bare feet. She didn't move, she waited for him to give the command, and he paced in front of her, grabbing her by the arm, pressing his strength into the area of the bite, and squeezed out a drop of blood._

_She stood rigidly, keeping her face emotionless, fighting against the knots of dread churning in her stomach. Her eyes remained changeless, and lips neutral. She waited in patience, knowing that he was going to hit her. She took a deep breath, and regarded the red shadows with unbreakable defiance._

_"Я не боюсь тебя,_ "  _she spoke to him in sparse voice._

*Slap*

_Her head jerked to the side, and neck cracked as the intense force of his large hand bruised over her pale cheek._

_Blood leaked from her mouth as thoughts had become disjointed. Spitting up watery bile, Natasha clenched her eyelids shut, and face numbed. She choked on her breath, and he rammed his palms into her chest, making her fall off-leveled to her feet._

_The man hissed, "_ Все вы это beautiful Русская кукла . Это может легко порвать с простым прикосновением руки."

_Natasha felt her body collided to the ground, her blemished skin violated by coldness. She tried to lift herself, pressing her palms into the cement, and bending her elbows, but he yanked her scarlet locks with a violent tug, inclining her head upwards, while his fingers snaked over her pulse point. Feverish beads of sweat dripped over her temples, as her vision was swimming in pools of red._

_She was immunized to the feeling of being compromised, rough, wet heat of stranger's lips searing her until she became damaged and empty. Her father bought her into his world as his own asset, stealing her childhood away, forcing her to fall into enslavement, slaughtering her innocence and living a life under the shadow of a gun._

_When she swallowed down the bloody taste, pain swelled in her. She forced herself to spare a glance at the obscured shapes in the doorway, her teary eyes fixed on a two men clad fully in black armor, wheeling a metal like coffin rescued on a medical table. She blinked, and saw lingering ice cloaked over the secured glass, and stared intently at the frozen body trapped inside. Fear drenched her with sickness; she managed to clamp a hand over her mouth, and watched the sight of horror fade into the darkness._

_"What was in that casket?" she asked, without using her Russian tongue, feeling a knife slice through her heart._

_"A ghost."_

_A cloth swathed over her swollen mouth, she breathed into the fumes and drifted out of a nightmare into another one. She sunk into a tempest of crimson, drowning and fading._

_Her skin turned to ice; blood became venom and heart coated with darkness._

__

_Weaving threads spindling over her, trapping her into a web and cocooned her body like a spider's prey, except she was slowly turning into the deadly and seducing spider..._

_The Black Widow._

* * *

**Russian translation to English**

**_Расслабьтесь и делать вид, его просто дурной сон-_ ** _Relax and pretend its just a bad dream._

**Стенд-** Stand

**_Я не боюсь теб_ я-** _I'm not afraid of you._

**_Все вы это beautiful Русская кукла . Это может легко порвать с простым прикосновением руки-_** All you are is a beautiful Russian doll. That can easily break with a simple touch of a hand.


	2. Part 2

**{2}**

****

 

* * *

 Feeling the eruption of pain twist into the marrow of her laden bones; Natasha awoke up with familiar broad arms securing over her midsection. The smell of evening rain hung thickly over his jacket, when she was still a captive of her distant memories, still fighting with a struggle to break out from the void of the weaving nightmares that lurked within the cold walls of the Red Room. She responded to the softness of his voice in the darkness. It was a gentle tone that lulled her clustered thoughts to shift back into reality.

His breath ghosted over her face and the warmth of his body made contentment settle back within her wounded body. She managed to peel her eyes open, armed and guarded from emotion, but steady on his chiseled face glowing in the mushy shades of night, and her vision was hazed with tears that sat in her eyes. She couldn't remember his name at first, the thralls of pain from the bullet lodged in her shoulder kept her in vacant train of thought. All she saw was dingy street light shining through curtains of rain. Streams of red from lights were imprisoned in the heavy drops of the downpour.

"Easy Nat, you took a shot to your shoulder. I'm lifting you up gently. Tell me if I'm hurting you?" Steve whispered, his voice a comforting beckon, pulling her out of the tempest. She hissed lightly as throbbing and pressure began to invade, letting her know that the bullet was sinking deeper into compromised muscle, no matter how much she fought against the sting and numbness, the pain grew stronger. It had always been there.

"Steve," she whispered and her voice was still raspy from being unconscious. Her tongue was growing thick in her mouth; she tried to regain her normal, husky tone.

He narrowed his obscured blue eyes at her shoulder, pressing his hand over the deep wound, softly and protectively.  He was easing the sickening tension. The warmth of his fingers caressed over the blemished skin; giving her relief. "Save your strength, Nat." he soothed, hush and serene. His right hand cupped lightly over her jaw, stroking through the knotted and drenched ringlet of scarlet. "I need to get you to a hospital." he breathed out sharply, his hand still encompassing over her shoulder. "You're losing too much blood. I can't risk losing you... "  

"Stop being so dramatic, Rogers." she winced; her body reacted to the thrall of pain with a jerky writhe of her limbs. Instinctively, she clutched his forearm, and squeezed. Her thoughts muddled and hazed coated over her eyes. She gritted her teeth, and growled with an unstable breath, "I'm fine."

Steve shook his head, "Stop lying, Natasha. You're not fine." He echoed back with his adamant blue eyes meeting her hardened glare. "I know you want to put up the fight, if we don't get the bullet out of you, then, your arm with become useless with nerve damage. That is price I will not let you pay."

"This is not your life, Steve.  I knew the risks when I took my eyes off of my target. It's all a part of the survival game." Natasha rebuffed, her body cradled limply in his arms; she felt his hand support her lower back as her shoulder length hair framed over her paled face. "Everything we do is for our freedom. Yes, we become wounded from battle, that's the price when you pull the trigger. Sometimes there isn't an easy way out." She slammed her eyelids, scrunching her face tight as a hiss escaped from her throat. Slowly, her heart rate drop a little. Impending anguish from the entwines of muscles locking began to register in her elbow joint and trailed downward to her wrist.  She looked around the desolated area in disbelief, trying to grasp the details around her. She hated feeling vulnerable and unequipped to defend herself from the encroaching shadows folding in the entrapment of her acute gaze. 

Losing the one you love will bring you into awful, dark, imprisoning labyrinth of regret. When listened to Natasha's breathing patterns growing faint against his chest, fighting and breaking the knots of dread while acting careless, he saw through her mask. He found the real woman suffering as the darkness in her grayish irises lifted the moment he stepped under the glow of the streetlight. He saw her pain.

"You don't have to put on a brave face for me, Nat." Steve said, the honest words coiling up his raw throat. He hesitated for a long moment; calumniating his next move for bringing her to safe place. Blood leaked down his knuckles, he didn't care, the rain washed the maroon off the flesh of his hand. He put all his concern into his stern, teary gaze, leveling his empowering blue eyes at her face. His eyebrows creased into a serious expression as the ultimatum of choice pressed over his heart. "How far is your apartment from here?" He met her eyes for another long moment. "Do you even live in the city?"

"You read my file," she gave him a weak smile. "You know the location of my current resistance."

Steve drew out a ragged breath, revealing his inward frustrations. "That is too far. We need to find a some close by, the amount of blood your losing will make you fall into shock if we don't hurry."

"I don't want anyone else knowing about this, Rogers." she grounded out firmly, clenching her jaw. Her eyes lingered over the pools of water cascading down the sewage drain, cleansing her blood out of view. "Clint and Stark need to be left in the dark. My business doesn't involve the Avengers. You better keep your mouth shut."

 Steve nodded, slowly and without a protest. "I'll keep my mouth shut, Natasha, but if your injury claims you in any way. I will be calling everyone." He pressed his lips into a firm line, swallowing down the taste of the rain. Natasha settled her glazed eyes back to him, giving him a cold and gloaming stare. She knew he was holding his ground, and that he wouldn't let her stubbornness control the situation. "Think about that?"

As irrational as it seemed, Natasha felt the bubbling fury surge in her veins. She wanted to ram her fist into his perfect chiseled jaw, watch it bruise in the wake of impact. He was stronger than her, his skin felt like iron to her dainty hands, and he also healed within days. He never carried scars of past battles, not the physical ones, but she refused to allow him to control her. She wanted to be ruthless and remove her knife. She wanted to make him bleed out his resilient heart. "I'm not following your orders, Rogers. I'm not one of your damn Howling Commandos."

He stiffened his jaw, and with smooth motion he brought his hand to her face. "You're right, Natasha, I know you're not a soldier, but you are someone I care about. Not as a friend, because you said I would be entering the wrong business, but something more..." His voice trailed, and blue eyes drifted to the street corner. "During the years of war, I've lost too many who I loved...Some were good friends and one was a brother." Steve felt the guilt swill down his throat and encase over his heart. His temperate irises gleamed with olden pain and resentment.

Natasha watched his emotions unravel, threads were being pulled and tears started to build. Unsettled, she lifted her shaky hand, and her thumb brushed over his bottom lip. She lulled to kiss him, break the tension and seize his lips with liquid heat. She wanted to feel the softness of his mouth fold into a interlock, without crossing the barriers of his heart. She inhaled softly, eager for his warmth to blanket over her chilled skin. "What I am to you, Steve?" she asked in a whisper, yearning for him to confess the truth, the words that she already known and waited to hear from his mouth. "I want the honest truth, soldier?"

His face withered with dismal emotions. "The honest truth?" he gulped down, a stiff ache persisted in his chest, making him feel breathless in those few seconds when he stared intently into her eyes. "You're my partner, Natasha." he added, taking her left hand gently, and bringing to his lips, as he pressed hard over her knuckles, kissing the icy flesh with the liquid heat his lips produced as he suckled over the bones. "You're someone who I care about, not because it’s my duty to protect you from harm’s way...It's because I made choice from the first time I saw you standing next to Banner. For that moment, I know that I would become your shield as you are to me."

She felt his breath caress over her skin, and twisted her lips into a genuine smile. "That is one of the most vapid things I have ever heard," she managed to jab her right elbow into his chest. "Then again, you're out of practice, old man."

"Yeah," he replied sheepishly, and dropped his head low, allowing his lips to compress warmth on her forehead. "Well, I'm practicing every day."

Despite, the invasive pain shooting through her body, Natasha managed to laugh. It was a beautiful sound, and it cut through the grim darkness around them.

He felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips, holding his kiss on her frigid brow; wanting to unleash his avow to her. Instead, he held her close, enough to feel her heart beating, and strode down the sidewalk, looking for a safe house to keep her well sheltered.

Natasha closed her eyes, unable to fight off the exhaustion and brushed her lips, hotly, over his strong, trusting and brave heart. She already was protected.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

The smell of fresh morning air cloaked through the bedroom, his protective crystal blue eyes watched her stir underneath the thick covers that covered her. The color of her sharp bones was vibrant as she was slowly regaining back her strength every hour. He sat near the bed side, his fingers gently brushing warmth over her discolored knuckles, and his lips pressed into a neutral line. Blearily he glanced back at the alarm clock. 6:40 AM.

Inhaling silently, Steve leaned back against the chair, the muscular planes of his back dug into the wood, uncomfortably, but he didn't complain.

He was dressed in his royal blue stealth suit, the silver embossed star in the center of his thick chest gleamed in the faint shaft of light streaming from the blinds; he was prepared for the battlefield and to carry out his mission.

His helmet with the chin strap was placed on the dresser next to his tarnished compass, and brown leather gloves, the shield was resting against the bed frame. He didn't want to leave her unprotected. Inside he was lost in a fog of turmoil and questioned his choices engulfing his mind.

It had been too many close calls since they became partners with the STRIKE operatives and when he moved to Washington where his life in a new perspective of a world had changed-completely. Entering a new routine, and trying out different things was a part of his adaptation -he never thought he could care so deeply someone again, not after he fell into the ice and lost his love Peggy Carter because he made the sacrifice to ensure the world's freedom of HYDRA's control and destruction.

He had plunged into the icy waters, sleeping for seventy years-everything had stopped around him, but he still felt the stirrings of pain and grief inside his frozen heart. He was still trapped into the painful embrace of regret and denied truths.

He sighed, and lips parting as he took a small sip of coffee. He gingerly moved his hand against her forearm; leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. His blue eyes settled on the slight discomfort he found on her bruised and paled features, small cuts from scattered fragments of glass embedded in the skin of her jaw and forehead. It was a reminder of the choice she made to save the child, and he knew those tiny blemishes would eventuality fade over time.

Quietly, Steve lifted his hand from her laden arm, and rose back up to his towering height, and then he strode to the window seat. He flattened his back against the cold plaster of the wall. He stared intently at the clusters of buildings -shadows of trees colored with the hues of burnt oranges and golden browns as the drops of rain bent the branches.

Everything was chaos. It was unnerving. There were invasive noise of sirens, bustling traffic and annoying screeches of rubber tires skidding over asphalt. There was no peace. Just the softness of rain hitting the glass panes of the windows, and a steady breath piercing from her light pink lips. Lulled by the sound of relief , Steve turned his stern gaze back to the bed, and watched her slowly open her eyes. Natasha focused on nothing, she just stared at her unfamiliar surrounding of his flat for a long moment, and then she drifted back into a partial, deep slumber.

A part of him still felt the coldness of the ice rattle through his bones; he still felt condemn by his failure to save his best man from falling into the snow valley of the Alps. It was a mixture of guilt and remorse, he was close, barely centimeters away from grasping Bucky's marred hand, but he doubted himself, and allowed defeat enter his harrowed mind, and that made him lose focus and hesitate. In because of his actions of what he didn't do, he lost his best friend and blood brother forever, never knowing the location of his final resting place. It was a brutal and noxious feeling that expelled from his soul. It was pure torture.

Despite the measure of victory he attained by defeating Loki and the alien army, Steve was know facing a new form a raging tempest entering a new battlefield that wounded him, penetrated deep within his defiant and guarded soul. This battlefield happened to be the greatest and most heart clenching thing to fight above all: love.

Unlike his battles with the Howling Commandos, Steve was lost on a narrow path, unsure to move forward or to fall astray from his emotions since ultimately, he was in falling in love with the woman captured in his soulful gaze. He didn't want to risk everything, their partnership and trust. He had to move slow and steady and let things if they were meant to happen, unfold at the right time.

Even though, Natasha had infiltrated his heart, mending his olden wounds of Peggy, and giving him something he had never felt before, he had to respect her, and treat their relationship like a mission.

He turned her focused back on to Natasha, her lithe body was shivering from the feverish symptoms she was fighting against, Steve quickly bolted from the window, and swiftly moved to the bedside, the sheets were becoming drenched as salty liquid seeped out of his pores. She was thrashing violently, lips curing into a deadly scowl but he could not understand a single word that escaped from the depths of her raw throat. He knew there would be days like this, that her body would depend on his warmth to break up out of her distress. There was just a dependency forming around him that he was beginning to doubt his own heart. Carefully, he settled himself on the mattress and stroked his rough, and warm fingers through her damp, scarlet locks, as he stared down at her slender frame trembling.

"It's okay," he crooned, soothing and gentle. He looked down at her chest rising and falling. She was entering a thrall of nightmares, and he had to pull her out. "I'm right here, Nat." he said quietly, hovering over her and placing his hands on her glistening, bare shoulders, careful not to apply pressure on the bandaged area.

He flattened his palms over firmness of her breasts, and felt the thumping of her racing heart. "Just listen to my voice." he echoed, a heat of his body heat seemed to clam her down momentarily.

Natasha winced and let out a deep groan of discomfort and rolled off to one side and turned her bare back to him. Steve blow out a breath of frustration, and lowered himself as his chin rested over her toned, undamaged shoulder.

He wrapped his arm over her trim waist and pressed himself against her back, while feeling her hand squeeze against his. Steve was baffled by the desperate squeeze over his knuckles, and lifted his head up, narrowing his blue as he watched a cozy smile stretch over her full lips.

Natasha slowly opened her eyes, she was slowly becoming alert into a state consciousness, feeling the blanketing peace enter through her body. She winced slightly and shifted her sleep-hazed green eyes on his chiseled face, watching shadows form over his cut-stoned features. She limply brought her shaking hand up and gently caressed his smooth jaw. Her heavy eyelids blinked, trying to adjust to the dull brightness of the bedroom and he squinted tried to make her blurry vision clear as her grayish -green eyes stared into his icy eyes. "Rogers," her hoarse voice said, clenching her eyes shut as the heavy jolts of spasms entered her muscles. "Where am I?"

Steve curled himself against her, his soft cool hands massaged over her feverish skin. At the same time, he pulled the covers down to reveal his pale and bruised abdomen glistening with sweat. She cautiously rolled onto her back, angled her head into the pillow and looked directly up at him as he rested his hand over her heart. "You're safe. That's all that matters, Nat."

She enveloped his hand over his, interlocking fingers and then swallowed a thick gulp of air. " You're here," she managed, in a broken voice. "With me?"

"Do you prefer that I leave? I did remove the bullet and wrap gauze on your shoulder." he gave her an honest reply, trying not to sound overbearing, but his baritone was still firm. "I had to use the internet. It was so helpful."

She felt the heaviness of exhaustion creep over her eyes. Steve settled his head into the pillow and delicately brushed the curled bangs of red out of her eyes. "You talk too much, Rogers," she said, running her fingers over his sharp jawline and in circular motion over his freckles. A devious and secretive smirk played over her lips.

"You should talk," He whispered, the corners of his mouth straightening upwards into a warm smirk, he ran his clammy fingers over her right arm. "Right now I don't want you to stop. I love hearing your voice, Natasha" he confessed, drifting into a sanctuary of peace. "Sorry, I think that came out too honest." he sighed breathily and Natasha's eyes lightened, allowing Steve to see the emotion in her guarded irises. "I'm just glad that you're alright."

"Well, for your information, Cap, This isn't my first gun shot wound." she whispered in a husky tone. "I've had my share of crossfire."

Steve felt the empty shards of his heart repairing back together, he cuddled her close to his chest, her lips brushed over the star, leaving a smudge of lipstick. He smiled, and then bent his head down, pressing a soft kiss on her sweat-dotted forehead.

"We've got a lot ahead of us. For now I just want you to heal." he whispered against her ear. "You deserve rest." Natasha felt his voice faltering in those moments. Her harden emotions were stripping off as he settled her face into the center of his rising chest. "You're alive. That's all that matters." he kissed her skin before saying the truth that etched over his heart. "I'm going to be right here for you, Natasha." he promised.

She looked up into Steve's blue eyes, looking for truth. She found it and closed her eyes.

She fell asleep for a rest of the morning, only listening to calming sound of his heart beating against her ear. When she woke after a restful slumber, she lifted herself up and off of him, studying his handsome face. Her feathery touch mouth down his strong jaw and watched his lips part as hot breath touched her skin. She smiled and felt his broad arm wrap over her as he pulled her closer, and snug against him.

"Will you stay here with me, Rogers" she said faintly, unsure and doubting his answer. She threaded her fingers over his golden spiked locks, and then narrowed her eyes at his armored uniform. "Unless you need to go on another mission?"

"I'm already on a mission, Natasha," he gazed down at her, tenderly with his sea colored eyes.

She felt her fragile heart skip a beat and she finally covered her lips with his, and guided them through a deep, savory kiss as the gleams of sunlight streamed over their bodies. She closed her eyes, feeling the sweet sensation of Steve's perfect lips, feeling the warmth, and the softness, their taste. She was breathless, curling against him as he pulled the folds of covers over them, and held with all of his strength, tenderness and new found hope.

Both Steve and Natasha felt their souls entwining as pieces that broke so many years ago were slowly becoming mended together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Natasha experienced life and death. Many times when she was wounded, the world around her had never changed in her absence of thought, and never allowed a new kaleidoscope to shroud over the crimson haze with the brilliance of colors that robbed her from peace. After lifetimes of stitching the gashes and cutting into the bullet holes, she would sometimes get the clarity of a image of her old existence.

The Russian ballerina that shared her mother's grace on the hardwood, and moved with the rythmatic pulse of her heart beat. Then, those images snapped. The lights would bleed out red as the murky darkness consumed everything.

_Natalia Alianovna Romanova, the true woman behind the semblance of the Black Widow, the woman who played to the common weakness in men, pulling them on the invisible thread and ensnaring them in her unescapble web her blacken sins weaved, while she waited in the shadows of their dreams, patience was her strength, and seduction her fatal power that she used to strike men with, merciless, and unforgiving, just like the lethal spider. For the reason, she allowed the name Black Widow to etch over her skin, hired a gun-a desensitized weapon by underground organizations, terrorist cells, the Russian Black Market, governments, KBG, and the milita. She became infamous through database of in the International agency circle; using her astute methods, ruthlessness and deception to survive the years of being scarred so many times from trusting men._

_Powerful men feared her and other revered her. There was only one man who she allowed to enter her territory without her venom coursing in his veins._

_Natasha never felt alone in the darkness. She'd been stripped from her humanity with infliction of pain from torture devices. Her ivory skin was blotched with raw scabs, claw marks from rusted instruments of punishment. She was surrounded by coldness and vacant shadows of terror, encroaching, blood churning screams of depravity echoing within the halls, taunting her to the breaking point with insanity penetrating against her soul._

_During the months of being imprisoned in the room, Natasha had been given a chance to prove her resistance against the desensitization periods of injections and mind alerting methods if necessary to spear her compliance. Given treatments of experimental toxins, she was condemned. She couldn't run. She couldn't search for escape without having sinister eyes of the guards watching her movements. She was frozen in the red shadow, using her lithe and petite frame as a advantage to lure her captors close to her._

_She had to use the tools that the cell provided to fight and kill with not sense of mortality running in her veins. It was pure carnage._

_However, her impulses of rage never lasted; not when the silent wraith entered her space, and brought her down to a pitiful level of dissemblance and subornation. He was ruthless, brutal and relentless with attack. His methods were elusive and lethal._

_The butchers called him 'Ghost' he adopted that name when he was thawed out from the ice coffin, and placed into isolation chamber until his voice drained out of him. It was a method of torture. He was mute and obedient to every command programmed within the binary codes of his disassembled mind. In other words, he was a hollow semblance of a nameless man. A senseless weapon created for the purpose to destroy and obey._

_Within the next months, Ghost had become her mentor and partner on covert missions of infiltration, assassinations and interference with data mining. She had become the efficient spy who killed her prey with rounds of bullets and wire. She became a symbol of death in the hearts and minds of Russia; and her fame granted her power against international threats. And Ghost had develop a new identity after receiving a new weapon-a metallic alloy arm that had replaced his old plastic and steel limb. It forged in the molten heart of HYDRA, and attached to the marred skin of his left shoulder._

__

_It was inorganic, but he learn how to control every movement of contortion, and after a few terminations, a red star was painted on the chrome plating. A symbol of his alliance with his new masters._

_He became the 'Winter Soldier' a haunting phantasm of metal and leather. His long dark brown hair gave him the wolfish appearance, and piecing, vacant blue eyes became the cold, unrelenting gaze of death to his targets. He was walking armory for his masters; a nightmare to anyone who crossed his icy path._

_He was lost to her._

_Her heart had been butchered, and soul ripped out her. She loved him, but the sad conclusion of his life meant that the connection they once shared would become lethal resentment towards each other._

_It was hard to allow the walls that she had built around her to crumble back down after she watched the man she loved become shackled to a life of mindless torture and red death._

___ _

_She knew trust was a weakness, a compromising sense that was veiled betrayal. She concealed all her emotions, standing on her guard, and not giving chance a reason to strike her down. She seemed struck in the dark place, she roamed the world searching for new existence-a new life without her darkest grievances marking her a condemned woman._

_'I will find you little spider. Remember that you are mine.'_

* * *

"No," Natasha straggled, her breaths hitching and catching. She snapped her eyes open, finding herself into the folds of murky darkness, the world was shades of crimson, vision was swimming as she searched for a way out of her torment. The deafening sound of the gun being fired numbed her ears. The eruption of pain ignited in her veins, heart was skipping a beat and when she swallowed back her saliva, the coppery tang of blood dripped into her throat.

She felt frigid hands of a demon choking her, squeezing her pulse and making her voiceless to scream. She gripped the sheets, violently into a tight clutch and thrashed every muscle. "This isn't real.." She objected, screaming at the top of her lungs, her strangled cry echoing through the walls of the guest bedroom.

The familiar of olden pain induced her system. She felt herself collapsing: desperately, spinelessly, uncontrollably into the colds of her captor. She tumbled off the bed, face smacking against the hardwood as the world became shards of dark jet, piercing through her skin. Her heart beat shuddered in her ears. "Somebody help me," she unleashed her frantic cries of desperation, arms thrusted outwards as she reached for something solid to grasp onto while she was being pulled under the red haze blanking over her body.

_'You have failed me, Natalia." A cryptic, inhumane voice coercing in the shadows around her; scarred against her ear drums. "You have failed your father.'_

Fear launched itself into full assault. Her eyelids clamped shut. Her head impacted the floor. Blood trickled from her lips. Her awareness of the world began to falter, and the faint streaks of light, didn't caress over her skin. Only darkness consumed her.

"Get out of my head," she screeched, clawing at the covers draped over her torso, constricting and tangling her into amass of choking folds. She was melting away-slipping back into fathomless void of her past. Fire ignited in her belly and tears rampaged down her cheeks, slicing into the skin. 'Help me!" she screamed, her voice dimming into low octaves, and breath was beginning to grow thick in her raw lungs.

_'You can't escape from me little girl. I will always be inside your dreams. No matter how far you try to bury me.'_

"Steve!" Natasha released panic filled cries; beckoning the super-soldier, her guardian angel to rescue her from the hellish delirium. Her ribs hurt, and she wanted to awake. Her sealed lips broke apart, and once more, she called out to him in ablaze of a wailing chorus of jostled nerve endings and throbbing bones. "Steve...Help me!"

"Natasha," his soft and harboring voice cut through the murky shades of crimson filtering behind her closed lids. His arms wrapped around her, cool hands eased the tension in her back, and she was being pull up. "Wake up, Natasha," he tried again, his steady words reached her ears. Blood seeped from her bandaged shoulder wound. She screamed. His hands never let her touch the floor. "Come on, Romanoff. Fight this."

"Steve," she whispered. Slurred. Why was she being effected? Did the bullet have something sprayed over it? A toxin?

"Yeah, I'm right here, Natasha." Steve said, threading his fingers through her disheveled, scarlet locks. He could smell the blood drenching over her bare shoulder. He wasn't to seeing her so vulnerable, scared and wounded, it was a strange feeling, but it still felt impermanent. All he could do was hold her in his arms, and not let her slip way. He embraced his warmth over her shivering body, his jaw rubbed against her head as her hands squeezed into fists into his shoulders. He closed his eyes, listening to the torment emanating from her throat.

He had to resist from crying-she needed his strength as he warred his fight against the torrents of shed tears. His soft breathing resumed, and his lips brushed wet heat over her clammy forehead as her tautness laxed. He laid his firm cheek against her shoulder, tilting his head and covering the tender areas of her neck with a soothing kisses.

Natasha fluttered her eyes open, her muscles flexed, and she looked at him with glazed grayish eyes. "Steve," she choked into a long breath of suffering, and then she couldn't speak. Her palm swiped over the chiseled lines of his face. Tears welled in her eyes. She looked at him. Deeply, and intent at him. He was gorgeous in the dim light shining over their locked bodies. His crystal azure eyes glimmer with warmth and undeniable love. His soft, full arched lips held a restoring kiss, and his golden hair was ruffled from distress. He never took his eyes off of her. He was real.

No barriers, threads or lies.

"I owe big time, Rogers." her voice cracked, as she tried to disentangle her body from his muscular arms. She couldn't stop looking into his loving blue eyes that mirrored her own soul. "Can we pretend that pain doesn't exist?"

He nodded, quietly. His eyes fell to her lips. "I cannot lose you, Nat." he confessed, honestly ragged up his throat. "I'm not strong enough..."

He frowned, narrowing his head to his chest. Time seemed to stop. He swallowed sharply, and clenched his eyes shut. "You mean so much to me...I couldn't face the day if you were taken. I won't be strong enough."

Her guarded eyes glinted. "Enough with the secrets, Rogers. Spill it."

He panted. His heart seized and lips broke apart. His eyes leveled at her, the blue swirled in his irises, and heavy tears of burden fell and sculpted over his indented curves of his strong jaw. The truth ripped out of him the instant he felt her barricaded heart beating against his chest. "I love you, Natasha."

She felt her heart thud to a complete stop.


	5. Chapter 5

"Natasha," Steve whispered, softly to her. He didn't shrink and babble like the nervous, skinny Brooklyn kid who was always left in the dark in the middle of the dance floor without a beautiful dame guiding his feet close to her heels, even though he was courteous and polite gentlemen. He agreed to have sociable meetings with Sharon Carter and Maria Hill with no intention of romantically pursing them.

He attended casual affairs that required no immense efforts towards making a romantic impression-kiss on the cheek and hand. Nothing else. After being invited to Stark's penthouse fundraiser for sick kids, he got closer to Sharon, and it became obvious that their relationship was more than platonic. But she didn't breathe life into him, not like Natasha did when he couldn't deny his heart.

He breathed in deeply and carefully weighted his assessed choice of words to her silence response. He decided to be completely truthful to definition of his love towards her with hearing Stark's voice guiding him through the moment, a real moment -twenty seconds of courage of revealing his devotion to Natasha.

Steve swallowed, blinking at her, staring profoundly into her teary eyes. He'd told her everything; his turmoil, and the burden of his responsibilities as Captain America. He had a connection with her would seemed to be unbreakable at some point when he tasted defeat. Each day he picked up the shield and marched back into the battlefield with her shadowing his steps, he felt whole-not broken. Steve also knew that he had to protect her along with the rest of the world, he was thankful she entered his new life and gave him back an existence without the helmet and uniform, even though the pain would still linger, but he had a choice to refuse the endless, dull throb in his heart and emerge out of the past and start a new future.

"Hey, its okay, you don't have to say anything," He said, his lips held a firm smile despite how concerned her felt. He pulled his hands up, and settled his palms over her bare skin.

Natasha sat there for a moment, stunned and unblinking. The constant throb in her heart dissolved into the churning blood lanced in her veins. Her body was frozen, slowly accepting the warmth radiating from his muscles. She swallowed and blinked. Tension thrummed in the marrow of her bones, twitched every livewire in her body. Every time her grayish-green sought his, Natasha would shrink against the bed frame, and then she looked down at the floor, not wanting to the genuine light in his vibrant blue eyes, and really not wanting to face him. She'd wanted a chance, a real chance to be real to him, no strings attaching her to the web of lies she constructed with blood and tears, to maybe not have to put on the act for him now. No, mere thread of deception had long since split into half. This was destructive.

He was there with her, his understanding eyes gleamed in the darkness shrouding over his face, outlining the honesty of his noble heart. He was trying to revive her back from the grave she had been buried into since she was a nine year old girl. Not until this moment, did she feel alive. The pain of not telling him writhed into the pit of her stomach, tingeing every sensation of feeling, every pulse, and searing waves of that raged into her core. Truth was a sharp thing to feel and it cut into her deep, slicing and piercing.

Doubt had found its way to creep back into her, and Steve, her beautiful, compassionate and endearing partner was the only one who was strong enough and brave enough to say the words. She should have found a different way to remove the laced bullet out of her shoulder. Steve wasn't supposed to be with her. No, Sharon Carter-Agent 13 was the woman for him. She was nice and full of passion about her work, but she was also Margret-Peggy Carter's niece and that made him feel uncomfortable. She observed their dates outside coffee shops while sitting inside her driver's seat of her black Jaguar, and read their lips, it wasn't right, but she wanted to hear the confessions pour out of his mouth when Sharon asked him a heart clenching question.

_'Do you still love my aunt?'_

_Natasha watched his reaction; knowing that his heart was climbing up his throat, stopping the flow of words from reaching his lips. His face discolored as blood drained from his cheeks in that moment when he entered the divide of past and present. She knew he preferred to face HYDRA in jaws of hell rather than answering Sharon's question._

_In that moment, she wanted to race up to him, intrude their conversation and punch him in the arm. He needed to stop living in the past. He deserved to have a future. Instead she watched them aimlessly finish their coffees, and then they parted way, never looking back at each other. The brave and heroic Captain America...was too afraid and unwilling to let go of his past...He was grieving from the loss of his best friend and the refused to surrender his heart to a woman who carried the same sparkle of Peggy Carter in her chocolate eyes. He could't let go._

_'Steve'_

_Natasha's gaze fell to the steering wheel. She knew he loved her, but she was a Russian assassin who had too much red on her ledger she was drowning into a pool of it, and she couldn't face him with a factual answer. She knew it was another dishonest method to give him false hope. He deserved better than that._

_'Chase her, Rogers.' she whispered, closing her eyes. 'Don't let her go..."_

It was much always easier for her to stay away, to run and erase her tracks. She knew his life was in danger; he would get severely hurt and lowly die in her arms because of her hatred towards her past. She'd tried to escape from the old phantoms of pain, clean slated her existence a dozen times over, and raked away the bound of marriage, throwing the wedding ring into a puddle of blood, allowing her demons to claim it. She hated every aspect of her stolen life.

The entwining weaves of torturous dreams, and graphic images of horror which condemned her. She hated herself for getting close to him and betraying his heart. That's what the Black Widow did; she ensnared men into her clutches, and struck them down with a deadly bite. Not Steve.

"Steve, I can't tell you the truth that you want to hear from me." she said, shedding a few tears. She almost wanted to kick herself for sounding pathetic, the whole situation seemed odd. She was so damned selfish, weakened by doubt and mistrust towards her own heart. Most of all, she was afraid to bring him into her dark, unforgiving, complicated world.

She loved Steve more than Clint and haunting wraith of her past- the Winter Soldier. That was a new conflict surging in her veins, harsh and unrelenting; it was something she couldn't dare herself to grasp. She hated that she couldn't spear out her regrets and prove her love to him. Her soul had been subdued.

For a long set of minutes, she didn't move, she just sat there in prison of darkness, staring at the shafts of city light illuminating from the windows. Barely looking at him, as lump begun to build in her chest, disturbed and guarded.

"I'm poison to you," she warned, her voice little and unsure. She dreaded the sense of detachment and coldness. "What if this happened to you? The bullet entered you and you trust me to protect you?"

Steve reached out, and pulled her shaking hand with his own, and squeezed it. "I trust you with my life, Natasha." He almost cried, but his stern composure prevented his fragile emotions from breaking out. Natasha continued to stare at him, her expression blank. When he moved his fingers across her knuckles, her gaze shifted into glazed readjustment.

She stared down at his large hand, still enveloped over hers. Tears burned her eyes. She tried to be strong for him. Steve and been so brave and supportive and comforting. She couldn't let him go. "Steve?"

His blue eyes lit up, and his massive right hand splayed over her back. "Before you say anything, I didn't mean to make feel discomfort. If you don't feel the same way...I understand entirely. I will respect that, Natasha." he said with a frown. He shifted. She grasped his bicep, pulling him close, his torso angled up against her curves, and she felt the heat-the powerful combustion of his super-soldier serum enter into her bones, and then she leaned down over his shoulder to kiss the side of his broad neck. "I don't think we should be doing this...You're wounded and I don't want to hurt you, Nat. Not with a mending shoulder."

"When you said that you loved me?" She rubbed her lips against his pulse point. "Did you mean it?"

His breath ghosted over her skin, voice was rumbling low pitch, but it was sure and sincere words. It was rare for her to hear. "Yes. I meant it."

Steve pulled slightly aback, "Natasha..."

"Is this the truth?" she asked, calm and collected. Men misused her by pledging her desires with no heart intermixed with emotion. They'd given her everything, their wealth, power and darkest secrets. She was a breakable doll, treated as an untouchable gift for a few times when she felt loved, only to be shattered with truth seeped from their lips and knives dig into her soul. Love had been the greatest of failures in her life times. Men were monsters-wolves in sheep's clothing, and she allowed herself to become victimized with abuse, scarred and empty.

It was hard for her to feel; every part of her body had been subjected to numbness. Her DNA was altered and decoded into inhumane threads that tangled up her very essence of human existence. The experimental serums gave her power and cunning intelligence to get what she wanted. Never what she needed.

"I want you to tell me the real truth, Steve," she leveled him with an intense stare, her voice forceful and scared. "You're my partner," She broke off the sentence, denying her own concealed desires. "We need to keep ourselves firm with each other. I can't commit to something that doesn't feel real to me. Sorry, but I have been used so much that it has become a barrier that blocks out the people I care about." she whispered harshly, disgusted with her choices of the past. "Everything I did was meant to destroy me. I hurt good people. Some at one point were good friends who turned into targets on graves while some became ghosts."

Steve pressed his lips into a tight line, and breathed out a labored whisper, "You want answers, Natasha. I give them to you." he almost growled at, frustrated with himself. "I thought I move on, pretend that everything was stable in my life-I have lost good people because of my choice of not making the dare to move. I am stuck -Grounded from living a normal life because of this guilt I carry. It is mine to bare. No one else deserves to feel this weight crushing him down to point where they feel dead inside." He lowered his eyes, staring vaguely at the floor and his set jaw clenched as he added. "I use to smile through my pain because I had something to live for, but now it just feels empty."

"When I..." Natasha started her voice throaty and weak. She had to tell him."Back when I lived in Russia, my family...I use to laugh and smile at anything because I free, Steve." A shiver run along the ridges of her spine, as disjointed flashbacks of her mother shot through her foggy mind. "I never got to say goodbye to my mother...She was killed the night I was taken by Ivan. They tried to kill her in my dreams, but never in my heart. She was my protector, and I was going to dance for her in these pink laced ballet slippers." She shut her eyes. «I guess she was never meant to dance again." She took a deep, hard breath.

"At least you know how to dance," he tried to smile light, nonchalance raised in his soft voice. "I can't even twirl on dance floor without falling on my face. And that's the truth."

She curved her pink lips into a faint smirk. She felt steady again. "Maybe you need the right partner. It takes to people to dance, and if you step on my heels with your big feet, I'll do it right back."

"Well in that case, I better start practicing." Steve smiled, blissfully, and he then looked at her again. His crystal blue eyes shimmered with sheer confidence, trust and love. Those were things she thought were faded out of men, but he was a man out of time, and he had something that other ones didn't or couldn't have -her heart.

She grinned, feeling the security of his arms fold over her hips. "You're going to need a lot of practice, Rogers."

He chuckled, hollowly. "I guess you're saying that I'm completely, hopeless?"

She smiled. Her grayish-emerald eyes softened, crinkling at the corners as she took in the sight of Captain America, every detail from freckle to distinct lines of his commanding, graven and young face. He was perfect. No flawless hidden, just real to her. His eyes, the wintry blue that held pain, hope and trust never seemed to change or darkened in those silent moments when they were trapped into the other's gaze. He leaned in closer, until his pointed nose was millimeters from her nose. Closer, and absolutely still, and his hand stroked the long strands of her red hair, holding her into a gentle stance as her neck rested against his forearm. She stared, unblinking, unwavering. Love. He always made her feel loved. It was what she needed, no more lies, and passports-just him. He was her golden haired angel who fought the demons with his shield of valor.

"Permission to kiss you, Agent Romanova?" he asked direct, using her real surname, his plush lips brushing over her mouth, hovering warmth and waiting.

"Permission granted, Captain Rogers," she replied, feeling the faintness of her heart.

Steve encompassed his hand over her face, and parted his lips, sealing her mouth with wet heat, gaining the soft flesh of her upper lip as he wrapped his own lips around it, sampling the sweetness of her, and swallowing down the moisture.

He pushed forward, crushing pressure, and applying savory warmth as he felt her lips dance under the folds of his mouth as he moved her blades up to the tip of her nose and kissed her long and deep. She was breathless, undone and filled with his breath trailing down throat. She forgot to breath, her heart seemed to skip a beat every second his lips moved along hers. Soft and gentle. Nothing compared to the caress and embrace she received. He didn't engrave scars on her, no; his loving kiss seemed to heal the marred holes in her heart. He took her pain. And she allowed him to.

"Steve," she whispered against his lips, licking at the sharp corners. Her breath hitched, and tears welled into her eyes. "I love you."

His teary blue eyes fell shut and he poured out all his emotions into a heated kiss, no more tension. She opened herself fully to him, frozen in his grace as his lips roamed every part of her mouth and her fingers gripped the golden locks touching the nape of his neck. He kneaded her scarlet locks, crunching the mass of hair in between his fingers, and deepened into fervent passion as their bodies folded into the darkness.

After a long moment of devouring his lips, Natasha pulled back, and pressed her palms under his shirt, feeling the rippling muscles flex in the wake of her touch. She was ready to strip him down, and make his sculpted body drench with sweat with her fierce thralls passion, but she knew he would never allow that-he had unbreakable mortals. She had to respect him. Maybe one day, if they weren't saving the world, but living different lives, just maybe he could restore her greatest burden that she carried deep within her.

Keeping her hazed green eyes, latched on his gleaming skin, she slid her fingers over the cervices of compacted muscle of his harden stomach. "Not bad for an old man," she smirked, and listened to him vibrantly laugh out her snarky voice. "You're still out of practice."

Steve smiled, and tilted his head forward, resting it against her forehead, and brushed his lips against her. Soft. Tentative. Heaven. He lifted his arms up, giving her access to settle against him, she accepted, and lowered her lithe frame atop of his torso.

His hands splayed over her back, soothing and tender, avoiding her bruises. His lips lowered to her shoulder, wet against the soft, compromised skin. He applied a kiss over the wound, feeling the muscle tense as his lips moved along the blemished skin, his tongue skimmed rough flesh. "You're beautiful," he murmured against her skin.

He was healing her. The nightmares had finally dissolved and seeped out her. She reclined her head back, closing her eyes as his nose ran up against her jaw line. He wandered over her chin and crushed another kiss on her lips. "You are," she said, the fierceness in her voice unleashed as she took his breath away and growled down his throat. "Mine."

Steve felt his swollen lips slack up, as their bodies interlocked and souls danced, and all he could manage to say in a heavy sigh, "Yeah."

It was more than enough assurance to her, and their kiss turned into something deep, strong and fierce, she was suddenly free from her past.

Captain America had rescued Natalia Romanova out of the red darkness. She smiled, and embraced him with everything she had left because his indestructible love was the price that paid for her freedom.

* * *

**{The End }**


End file.
